


Crackling Fire

by chunni



Category: Rocketman (2019)
Genre: Angst, Bernie Taupin is a Good Friend, Drinking, Drunken Kissing, F/M, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, I'm Sorry, Kissing, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Music, Pining, Pretending to be someone else, Self-Destruction, Unrequited Love, now with comfort and a happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-04-24 02:09:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19163656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chunni/pseuds/chunni
Summary: It shouldn’t have hurt to watch Bernie leave with a girl at the after-party.In his attempt to overcome the ache of his heart Elton might just make it worse.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I fell in love with this film and, of course, I needed to write something to compensate all these emotions it put me through…  
> This OS is set after the Tiny Dancer scene but before Elton meets John Reid. (By the way, I don't know if the girl's name has been mentioned, sorry...)  
> I'm warning you now it's very angsty dealing with Elton's unrequited feelings towards Bernie and if that's not your cup of tea, don't read it. I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable.
> 
> And to make it clear, this is a purely fictional OS, set in another universe maybe. I love their real life friendship and Elton's husband and family and I wouldn't want to destroy it! However, I thought about writing something like this since watching the film for the first time and I couldn't resist...
> 
> (I'm also no native speaker, so please feel free to correct any mistakes I made :))

**Crackling Fire**

~

~

~

The crackling of the flames sounded more like ugly laughter beneath the nightly sky of Los Angeles.

It wasn’t loud, no. Next to the chattering of people, their footsteps, the rustling of grass and clothes, it should have been almost inaudible.

Not to Elton, though.

He was surrounded by people, by the excited buzz that always came with big crowds of men and women partying. A tension like electricity in the air, almost palpable. He could sense it but he wasn’t part of it as if he were looking through the dusty windows of a rundown building without the possibility to reach outside.

He wasn’t part of it because he was different, wasn’t he? Because he wasn’t normal. And he was stuck walking around mindlessly at an event that should have been for him, should have been his to enjoy.

He should have been overflowing with joy, shouldn’t he? His performance at the _Troubadour_ had been a grand success, the people had been singing, had been dancing, had been _addicted_! To _his_ music. To Elton Hercules John, the new star at the sky of rock 'n' roll, soon to be conquering the US, and then perhaps the whole world.

On stage it had been different.

He had felt the notes and tones with every fibre of his being, not only listening to the melody as it flew through the air but also listening to his very own melody of his mind, of his heart, of his soul. He and the music had been one and the same, flying, _floating_ all the same. And for a moment he had seen every face in the crowd, delight written in them, had seen _him_ , had heard every whisper, every yell, had felt every atom of his body pulsating with rhythm.

It had been wonderful.

Now though, he had never felt further from happy.

Elton knew that Bernie loved him. But he also knew that it couldn’t be compared to the love he felt. A different love.

Bernie loved him but not _like that_. He’d known since that achingly beautiful night on the rooftop, the city gleaming and promising beneath them. He’d expected it since their first encounter. He’d feared it far too long.

However, he’d told himself that it didn’t matter, that they were best friends after all and that it might be enough. That he could live with it, go on. That it might not be easy but easy enough and that would have been all he’d wish for. Being able to go on.

Elton had thought, had been _convinced_ he was over it.

He wasn’t.

He knew when he sat next to Bernie on that couch listening to him saying something about joining a girl Elton couldn’t care less about in a tent. He knew when he saw him leaving with her, leaving _him_. Leaving him alone, a misfit in the crowd, doomed to wander aimlessly like Jack on All Hallows Eve.

He knew when the pang in his chest grew to an aching hole as if someone were trying to dissolve him alive with burning acid. It had taken all his willpower to clench his teeth forcing a smile upon his face, as small as it might have been. He had drunk quite a lot up to this moment but every trace of alcohol disappeared from his blood a second later leaving him sober and disillusioned.

A part of him wanted to be angry with Bernie and it should have been easy to be, to blame _him_. Though, it was even easier to blame himself. Probably because he _was_ to blame, wasn’t he? He was the one having feelings he shouldn’t have, feelings that society didn’t deem normal. He was the one being different.

And so, the sparks of anger drifted away like leaves in the wind leaving him a cage of nausea and grief for company.

It hurt.

Who knew that love could be so painful?

Elton didn’t know how long he roamed the party grounds, how long he sat by the fire eventually and he didn’t particularly care.

Though, he felt in the stiffness of his legs as he did rise in the end that it hadn’t been a short period of time. He saw it in the way the darkness grew as more lights were being extinguished, too, and in the way countless people left as if they were being erased from a painting.

He was alone. Once again. Like he’d always been if he was being honest.

_He didn’t want to be alone._

When he walked towards the tents, he didn’t even notice the path his steps followed at first. _Where_ he was going to. Though, a part of his mind undoubtedly knew, the same part of his mind that loved _him_.

His consciousness knew where he was going when he saw an all too familiar black-haired girl sneaking through the half-covered entry of a tent that she could only be sharing with one person. With _him_. His friend. His love. _Bernie_.

He frowned when he watched her stretching her arms, all long legs and smooth dark skin almost blending in the dimly lit night around them. The only thing making her stand out was the piece of clothing she was wearing, a bright, patterned button-down shirt. It was like a punch in the gut when Elton recognised it and he had to bite his lip to keep himself from gasping.

For a moment he wanted nothing more than to walk to that girl and push her into the mud dirtying that damned shirt so he wouldn’t need to look at it anymore. So he couldn’t recognise it.

He balled his hands into fists to keep himself from doing something he’d regret later on. Or perhaps he only did it to keep himself from trembling, from loosing the strength of his muscles and tumbling to the ground.

Why did she get to go with him? A girl Bernie hadn’t even met before today, let alone talk to. She didn’t know him like Elton did, she hadn’t shared the highs and lows they had gone through together, Bernie and him. She shouldn’t be allowed to be with him.

It hurt.

Elton knew that it was unfair of him to even think something like that but he couldn’t fight against these feelings, these thoughts. They overpowered him without giving him the slightest chance to resist.

Maybe he also didn’t want to.

When he watched her leaving, probably trying to find a toilet or so, he felt a wave of sadness and helplessness rushing through his body, intense enough to suck the breath out of his lungs, to make him close his eyes.

When he opened them again she was gone. And with her a bit of the weight pressing on his chest.

His eyes flickered to the tent again, the tent with Bernie in it, Bernie without that damned girl. He couldn’t be sure, couldn’t see inside but it had to be like this. Bernie had to be there, only a few metres away from him.

If Elton made a step, maybe two, forward he might even be able to reach out and touch the fabric of the tent.

He swallowed when a thought crossed his mind and there was an urge dancing through him, warm like the summer’s sun. The wish of going into that tent and talking to Bernie, no matter in which state he’d find him.

He didn’t want to end the night like this, his skin and mind itching, aching. He didn’t want to close his eyes with the knowledge that his thoughts would wander back and forth, that he wouldn’t be able to sleep until the early morning hours.

It might even be enough to look at _him_. Without a girl. Just the two of them.

Together.

Taking a deep breath, he inched forward, each step a gunshot on the emptying party grounds. _It doesn’t need to be long_ , he told himself wetting his lips. It _couldn’t_ be too long. She’d return soon enough.

All of a sudden the blood inside his veins seemed to heat up and he took off his denim jacket to let it fall down next to the entrance. The cold air didn’t feel cold anymore. _I’ll retrieve it in a minute_ , he told himself rubbing drops of sweat off his forehead. No problem.

It was no problem to sneak through the entry, too.

The first thing he noticed inside the tent was the darkness. A darkness that made clear that it was indeed the deep of the night, dim shadows and lights flickering over the walls like ghosts. A darkness that made it impossible to make out more than the vaguest shapes.

Elton felt his heart sinking resisting the urge to purse his lips and frown. What a joke. A sad, a depressing one at that. _They won’t even let me see him_ , he thought even though he couldn’t say who ‘they’ were. God and his angels? The devil and his demons? The three fates spinning the thread of his life?

How disappointing.

He considered turning around on his knees and leaving as fast as he could, when a sound made him pause.

The sound of rustling sheets, of unsteady breathing, increased tenfold by the nearly entire removal of his sense of vision. And then, there was a voice, low and more of a murmur, a whisper, slurred by alcohol, but clear to him.

“You… back ‘gain?”

His heart skipped a beat just to race forward.

Elton froze as if there were a spell cast on him making him rigid like a brick wall, his breath stuck somewhere between his ribs. He wanted to say something, should have, but he couldn’t. Not with his tongue heavy and lifeless in his mouth. He couldn’t even open his lips.

The only thing he could do was blinking trying to focus on the black shadow in front of him, the _moving_ shadow, long dark hair swaying with the motion. Close, much too close, and coming even closer.

He shouldn’t have been able to feel fire and ice rushing through his veins at the same time.

If he had been reasonable, he would have reacted. Reacted in a _normal_ way, that was reaching out to stop Bernie from moving against him, giving him a heads-up and a goodnight _and leaving this tent_.

He should have done so.

But he didn’t.

He could have said that it was because he hadn’t known better, because he had been surprised and tired out by the events of the day. Though, in his heart he knew that it wasn’t true, that it might not be a lie but it wasn’t the truth, not all of it.

In the end, he wouldn’t be able to force away the fact that he knew all too well what would happen if he didn’t move, if he didn’t dodge, if he didn’t leave. He wouldn’t be able to force away the fact that he _wanted_ it to happen.

When a felt a hand at his chin, smooth skin against his, he didn’t turn his head to shake it off. Instead, he tilted his head to increase the contact, a warm tingle spreading through his stomach. The fingers moved to brush over his cheek in a soft, circling motion that seemed too steady, too conscious for a drunk. And it was nice to think that he wasn’t drunk, that it wasn’t a coincidence, that it would have happened either way. It was much too nice, a sweet, malicious poison.

If Bernie noticed that something was off he didn’t show it.

Elton felt his eyelids fluttering shut when he felt hot breath against his face, a shiver running down his spine, blood rushing through his ears. It was easy to lean forward, to push away all negative thoughts even though it was only for a moment.

Bernie didn’t kiss him at first, not really, his lips pressed against the upper half of his chin, probably because of the darkness, probably because of the alcohol that ran through his veins, that _was_ tangling his thoughts and movements even though Elton wished it were different.

However, he didn’t have time to follow this spiral of drowning thoughts as the hand against his cheeks moved downwards to hold onto his shoulder, as the lips moved upwards, their breaths mingling in the air. And then, they were kissing.

Bernie was kissing him.

Elton felt his face heat up and if it weren’t hidden by the shadows of the night, it would have been painted red for everyone to see. It didn’t matter, though, as the lips began to move beneath his, pressing closer in a way that made his heart leap out of chest. A part of him wondered how it came that no one noticed his heartbeat. To him it sounded like a battlefield, the clashing of a thousand swords. He couldn’t believe his luck. He couldn’t believe his misfortune.

Warmth reached through every part of his body as he let himself return the kiss, his lips quivering with tension and suppressed desire. Though, his stomach twisted as if someone had stabbed him with a knife, cutting flesh and muscles, creating a wound that might not be able to close, to heal.

He knew it was wrong. He shouldn’t be doing this. He knew that Bernie wouldn’t want him to do this, their friendship was worth more than this.

_It hurt._

It hurt, but wasn’t it a pain as sweet as roses?

Elton wanted to reach forward to touch Bernie, to follow the soft arch of his hips, the line of his back, to press against him as close as he could but he knew that he wouldn’t. Now, he could pretend but pretence only worked so long. He could push, test his limits, _he could_ but the stakes were high enough already and he knew that it would be only a matter of time until everything fell apart like a sculpture of sand.   

And the consequences would be horrendous.

His skin prickled, arousing and nauseating him at the same time, and his eyes shot open even though the darkness hadn’t faded away yet. He could see the scenes before his inner eye, Bernie freezing, asking, _accusing_ him.

It mustn’t happen.

Elton hadn’t noticed that he had stopped moving like a deer staring at the headlights of an approaching car until Bernie withdrew himself with a shaky exhale pulling back his hand as well.

The lack of touch sent a chill over his skin, a claw clenching around his heart. He choked back the urge to grab Bernie and kiss him with every ounce of passion and warmth he could offer showing him exactly how much he meant to him. How much Elton loved him.

A pang of panic soon overshadowed the feeling and he held his breath as the terrible thought crossed his mind that Bernie might have recognised him.

“Is… ‘thing wrong? You seem…,” he murmured, voice husky and beautiful and painful. He didn’t finish the sentence and he didn’t have to. Elton was glad he didn’t.

He shook his head, a jerky, ugly motion, even though Bernie wouldn’t be able to see it. It was a lie either way.

There _was_ something wrong. Everything he did was wrong. His thoughts were wrong. His feelings were wrong. And every day pushed him further down the black hole he wouldn’t return of.

His eyes burned and he couldn’t stay any longer, he couldn’t be here, he couldn’t pretend because in the end, nothing had changed.

His limbs were a heavy, shaking mess and he threw himself towards the exit leaving this damn tent as fast as he could and hoping with every fibre of his body that Bernie wouldn’t look after him. That he would close his eyes surrendering to an alcohol induced headache, that he would sleep and forget everything about this incident.

Elton wouldn’t be able to.

His heart still racing as if he’d run a marathon, he stumbled away from the tent, from _Bernie_ , back to the campfire crackling its mocking laugh.

The girl hadn’t returned yet but he also didn’t look back to check.

He looked into the flames, hot and blazing, and he imagined himself inside burning and aching and hoping to end this misery that was called his life.

Tears were spilling out of the corners of his eyes leaving wet but silent trails on his cheeks, and he knew that nothing would be able to quench the aching fire inside him, the love that would live on, burn on, rage on.

A love that could bring him happiness and warmth with just a smile, the wink of an eye. A love that was to sweet and devastating at the same time.

It hurt.

~

~

~


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I decided to write a little sequel because I didn't want to leave Elton in this miserable state :P It gets worse until it gets better but it does get better, I promise…   
> (BTW John doesn't speak to Elton at the after-party in this story)

_The day afterwards…_

~

~

~

Elton couldn’t remember calling a cab but he must have done so because when he came to he was lying in his bed in their hotel room.

In this case lying in his bed meant lying fully clothed on top of the blanket and mattress, one hand grazing the carpeted floor and his head barely touching the pillow. He groaned, an annoying _tap-tap-tap_ somewhere behind his temple.

Why was it that alcohol always entailed headaches?

Why… why had he even been drinking?

It took him a few moments of blinking until he managed to keep his eyes open and then a few more until he’d gathered enough strength to push himself into a sitting position. Even that small motion made the colours of the room waver as if an earthquake were about to happen, nausea pooling in his stomach. He pressed his lips together resting his back against the wall above the bedhead and, somehow, managed not to puke.

Elton inhaled for a long second, exhaled a little less long.

And then the sweet cloud of alcohol poisoning wasn’t able to keep his mind numb anymore and everything came back to him, the memories of last night, music and fire and _him_ , and he might have gasped out loud.

Shit. _Shit-shit-shit-shit_ \- What the _fuck_ had he done?

His fingers clenched around the creases of the blanket as if were trying to rip a hole into the fabric, muscles tense, and he froze, blood cold and growing colder by the minute as if he were standing naked in the midst of an ice desert.  

His eyes were wide but unseeing, or rather seeing but seeing something else than the plain room with its brown and orange colour hues.

He remembered. He remembered lights and shadows, soft lips, their shape so horribly well fitting his own as if made for him, and only him, and he remembered it being perfect for an achingly beautiful moment, a soothing flame within his heart, and he remembered…

He remembered Burnie not recognising him.

Elton blinked, heart pounding but his muscles loosening, and he exhaled the breath he’d held. A part of him wanted to give in to the urge to cry because he didn’t have enough sleep, because he was exhausted, _mentally_ exhausted, his feelings shredded. Because it was all a bit too much and he couldn’t, he just couldn’t take it.

But he didn’t cry, forced himself to bite his lips, lips that seemed to hum, slowly, quietly, with an oh so precious memory, lips that didn’t feel like his own anymore. He stopped when the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth, and it didn’t hurt, not really, not after all the pain he’d already endured until now.

Elton laughed, an ugly noise, but it was better than crying and he knew that he should be relieved that Bernie hadn’t recognised him, should be happy that they could go on as if nothing had happened. And most of him was.

He locked the other part in the far back of his mind and shook his head.

It was only after he’d risen and gone to the bathroom to splash some water onto his heated cheeks, after he’d squinted at his pathetic looking reflection in the mirror, that he noticed something odd.

_Didn’t I…?_

Elton blinked a few times at the blue white printed shirt he was wearing, his skin weirdly itchy all of a sudden as if there were a thousand ants crawling between fabric and flesh. It didn’t feel right. It didn’t look right.

For a few seconds he had the awful, anticipating feeling of walking on a beach and watching the first dark clouds flooding across the horizon bringing thunder and lightning. Then he knew.

He _knew_ , and the realisation settled in his stomach like drops of burning poison. For a few seconds he wondered how it was to breathe because he wasn’t sure if he’d ever do it again.

He remembered his denim jacket.

The jacket he hadn’t retrieved. The jacket that must be lying in front of that damned tent waiting to get noticed by Bernie who knew that jacket, no doubt. That damned jacket.

How the fuck should he explain _that_?

The easy answer was, he wouldn’t.

~

And who said that Bernie would even suspect anything?

~

Maybe he’d be lucky for once in his life.

~

Maybe he wouldn’t be.

~

Half of him hoped that some junkie had snatched himself a new trophy jacket worn by Elton John himself, so he wouldn’t see that thing ever again.

It wasn’t that he didn’t care about the jacket. It was a very nice denim jacket, one he’d liked a little more every time he wore it, and he’d already loved it when he’d bought it, but some sacrifices had to be made for the greater good.

Of course, he didn’t have such luck.

~

When Bernie returned to the hotel room, it was one or two hours later.

It surprised Elton enough to let him contract his brows as he vaguely remembered Bernie saying he’d spend the day with… _her_. Though, the biggest part of him was busy averting his eyes closing the last buttons of the shirt he’d put on after showering. His heart danced to the rhythm of a jerky, unsteady song, jumping around his chest loud enough to make him wonder how Bernie couldn’t notice the sound.

He swallowed hard, his hands fumbling with the pockets of his trousers as he tried to think of something, _anything_ , to do that wouldn’t involve speaking to him, or seeing him for that matter. 

“Good morning, Elton,” Bernie said, voice rough and husky, undoubtedly from alcohol and a lack of sleep. Nevertheless, there still was the same gentleness to his tone that never failed to make Elton feel all warm and fuzzy. And there was another feeling, too.  

_“You… back ‘gain?”,_ a voice of his memory whispered, low and warm like breath against his skin, and there had been breath, breath against his skin, breath against his lips, hot and dense, close, closer, _closer_.

A shiver ran down his back and it shouldn’t have taken such an effort to open his mouth, shouldn’t have taken such an effort to keep his voice from quivering. “Good… morning, Bernie.”

There was a moment of silence and Elton stopped fidgeting with his pockets, stopped moving altogether, breath stuck inside his throat as he waited, listened, hoped, _prayed_.

“I’ve got your jacket, mate,” Bernie said and Elton’s heart skipped a beat.

He grimaced, glad that he hadn’t turned around yet because Bernie would have noticed his expression, and he would have known that something wasn’t right, and he would have suspected, and he would have _known_ , and that mustn’t happen because it would be worse than every nightmare ever imagined. It took him a few risky seconds to gather himself, to force his face to stay blank and only then he allowed himself to turn around.

The smile on his face might not reach his eyes but with Bernie being fatigued by last night, it might be enough. It wavered when Elton glanced at Bernie, his friend all dishevelled dark hair and yellowish glowing skin as if he’d been staying in a locked room all summer long. A smile tugged at the corners of those lips, _soft lips_ , when their gazes met. To Elton, he was beautiful.

“If you don’t want it back, I’ll keep it.” Bernie chuckled in a nice, soothing way. It was only then that Elton’s eyes fell onto the jacket he was holding into the air, colourful patches almost covering up all of the denim.

He forced himself to laugh stepping forward to reach out, to grab the fabric. In doing so his finger’s brushed Bernie’s and for a moment his heart was leaping to his throat, his pulse drowning out his own breath, and he flinched.

For a moment he might have seen something flickering through the brown of Bernie’s eyes.

Then Elton stepped back, his heart fell to its original spot and his pulse calmed down. The jacket felt heavy as a brick wall between his fingers but he managed to steady his grip around the fabric pressing it against his chest.

“I’ve found it next to the tents,” Bernie said and wasn’t there something lurking behind his words, cold and firm and challenging? Or was Elton just imagining things?

Trying to ignore the fluttering of his stomach, he lifted a brow as if asking Bernie to continue even though he didn’t want him to.

Bernie shrugged his shoulders, a motion seemingly relaxed, unconcerned. If it weren’t for the way his expression darkened oh so slightly. Or did it? Elton felt his lips trembling as he tried to find another topic, any topic really, that wasn’t last night. One that didn’t include tents or denim jackets, and why did he feel as if he were stumbling head-first into the abyss?

“I wondered how you’ve managed to lose it…,” Bernie added, the question behind his words as clear as daylight. “It was quiet cold last night, wasn’t it?”

“Hm.” Elton tore his gaze away from Bernie, thoughts whirling around his head and one less helpful than the next. When his legs didn’t want to hold his weight anymore, he let himself fall onto the bed again, ice-cold fingers resting on the blanket.

“It isn’t as if you’d know. You haven’t really been outside, have you? What’s her name again?” He resisted the urge to snarl, voice already too venomous, too jeering. His heart ached as if a claw were squeezing it together. _He didn’t want to talk to Bernie like that._ “Daisy?!”

“Heather.” Bernie’s voice was flat, _too flat_ , as if he were trying to hinder his emotions from tinting it.

“Ah, right.” Elton rolled his eyes. _What an ugly name_ , he thought but, of course, he didn’t say anything like that to Bernie.

“Heather.” The name tasted like stale bread on his tongue and his mouth became oddly dry as he pressed his lids together for a second too long, eyes stinging, and he wouldn’t cry. He _wouldn’t_.

When he opened his eyes again, he was looking straight at Bernie’s patterned shirt, _the same shirt_ she _had been wearing_ , because his friend was standing right in front of him. Resisting the urge to rise, to walk away, and maybe lock himself into the bathroom, he let his gaze sweep upwards until he met Bernie’s gaze.

Bernie was tilting his head slightly, forehead creased as if he were pondering a problem without an easy solution. Maybe without a solution at all.

Elton’s heart picked up its pace in a jerky, shaky way, and he didn’t even know why, and his eyes widened slightly, and Bernie didn’t say something, only stared at him, stared at him, and then-

It happened too quickly to be able to follow.

One moment he was trying to form a sentence that would steer their conversation into new, _safe_ waters. The next moment Bernie was kissing him.

_Bernie was kissing him._

And he wasn’t drunk, and they weren’t surrounded by darkness, and there was no girl anywhere near, they were alone, together, and _Bernie was kissing him_.

Last night inside the tent Elton had thought he must have sobered up somehow because there had been no way he’d be able to feel more than he had then. Now he knew, he hadn’t.

Because now there was no alcohol numbing senses he hadn’t even known could be tarnished, now there was no tired cloud covering his thoughts and ears. Now he felt, and _oh_ , how well he did.

The jacket fell out of his unresponsive hands brushing over his legs until it crumpled upon the floor.

He felt Bernie’s lips pressing against his own, soft and warm, and every part of their joined skin trembled with electricity sending waves of fire through his veins. And wasn’t there the faint taste of orange juice, sweet enough to mask the lingering trace of booze?

He felt fingers clenching around his jaw, a thumb dancing over his cheek, and the grip was strong enough to hold him in place. A hot shiver ran down his spine, his whole body tingling as if he were lying in a bed of flowers because it was nice to think that Bernie did so to keep him from walking away, to keep kissing him, and Elton wouldn’t mind being kissed forever if it were _his_ kisses.

But it wouldn’t be forever, couldn’t be, and it weren’t more than a few seconds of bliss, a few seconds of him leaning into the kiss because how on earth could he not return what Bernie was offering so deliciously willing?

And then he noticed Bernie’s closed eyes, lashes close enough to appear golden, a few beautiful freckles scattered across his cheeks, but above all he saw the tension in his knitted brows, in his entire face for that matter. And he felt it, too.

His lips became firm, unmoving, and then Bernie withdrew straightening his back, his fingers brushing over Elton’s jawline as he pulled his hand back. Elton felt the fire burning through his body transforming into ice as the realisation hit him like an uppercut.

Though, it was only when Bernie began to speak that his suspicion was confirmed in a horrible, terrible way. The suspicion that Bernie hadn’t kissed him because he wanted to but because he’d wanted to confirm his very own suspicion.

Elton’s heart fluttered like a dying bird inside his chest as he stared at Bernie, every one of his movements as if in slow motion because he couldn’t look away, because he couldn’t think, couldn’t move. Because there was no way of avoiding this crash.

It took Bernie a long time to open his eyes as if there were an invisible power working against him, lids fluttering for a few seconds while he rubbed his forehead with shaky fingers. He sighed, the sound drawn out and oddly, terribly _defeated_. Maybe even broken.

When their eyes met again, Elton’s lungs filled with water.

“Why…,” Bernie began, voice firm, decided, strong, but perhaps he didn’t feel that strong after all because he paused to exhale, inhale. It didn’t really matter because Elton focused on the expression in his eyes, an expression that ripped a hole inside his chest aching in its horrible emptiness. There was a shadow in the normally warm shade of molten chocolate, disappointment, horrible, utter disappointment.

“Why did you do that?”, Bernie whispered and he wasn’t accusing, wasn’t screaming, wasn’t threatening him. Somehow, Elton wished he were.

He couldn’t breathe, and his mind whirling around made it difficult to form a coherent thought but he managed to ground out the words. “What are you… talking about?”

Averting his eyes, because he couldn’t possibly keep looking into _that_ expression, he shoved himself off the bed to walk towards the bathroom.

“ _Goddammit,_ Elton!” And he flinched, ached, maybe died a little. “Why did you go into our tent last night!? Why did you kiss me without my knowledge!?”

“I…,” he ground out clenching his teeth, then swallowing hard. He knew he couldn’t deny it anymore, the defeat running like acid through his veins, and something else, too. Anger. “Well, I remember _you_ kissing _me_.”

For a few seconds Bernie seemed too stunned to answer and Elton’s body was too busy dying to care.

“D-Don’t act like a child about this, Elton,” Bernie said, a slight quiver in his voice. Even though Elton pressed his lips together, he couldn’t stop the sickness from grabbing his throat. “You knew I was with Heather.”

At first Elton didn’t want to respond and a part of him didn’t think he would be able to if he tried. But he’d never been one to shut up and crumble. He knew chances were that he was only making things worse but his mouth opened by itself. And was it even possible for this situation to worsen more?

“Yes, I knew,” he murmured in a voice that didn’t want to belong to him, not with its coldness, its emptiness, and he’d _never_ wanted to talk to Bernie like that. Why was he doing it now? “I watched you two.”

When his fingers began to tremble, he clenched his hands to fists, and why was he still here? Staying wouldn’t do him any good because Bernie was there, too, and it was only a question of time until Bernie would force him to turn around, to look at him, and he’d _die_. He’d die.

Though, wasn’t it better to die than to burn on inside the flames of the fire he’d started himself?

“I was there if you remember!”, he snapped, sparks of anger rushing through his body, anger that was solely directed at Bernie. Or so Elton told himself. Swallowing the urge to grab a fragile item to dash against the wall he threw up his hands. “I was there but you didn’t care about me, did you?! A girl you didn’t know was more important than your best friend because _she’s American, Elton!_ ”

He grimaced yelling words he didn’t want to say but couldn’t keep inside his soul either. It hurt either way.

“And she’s damn pretty, isn’t she? Beautiful even. Likes music, I guess, because why else had she been there? Perhaps she can sing, too, and wouldn’t that be just _wonderful_?” His laughter couldn’t bear less resemblance to a happy sound.

“Then you wouldn’t need to cling to such an utter idiot as me. Go on! Forget me! I don’t care. I know I can’t compete with her because I’m a fucking faggot and you’re not and I was foolish enough to think I could change! I _can’t_! I can’t and you better leave because I promise you it won’t get better! LEAVE!”

His throat felt as if someone had thrust a blade all the way down to his lungs. He wanted to curl up at some place where no one knew him, where no one would try to talk to him, where he’d be left alone, left to cry. Left to die.

“J-just leave a-a-already...,” he whispered trying his best not to sob, shoulders slumping down.

When he felt fingers brushing against his upper arm, he flinched, heart skipping a beat. He stumbled forward, away, as far as he could, because if Bernie didn’t leave, he would. At least he tried because the hand clasped his arm a second later and forced him to jerk to a halt.

“Please, turn around,” Bernie said. “Please, _Elton_ , just turn around…”

Maybe it was the sincerity of his voice, maybe it was his heart longing for every spark of warmth and hope it could get, but Elton did turn around, albeit pressing his eyes close before doing so. He only now realised that his body was trembling like leaves in the wind and he clenched his fingers around his shirt to stop the motion. It didn’t help.

It only stopped when a second pair of hands covered his own. It gently loosened the grip of his fingers around the fabric before pressing their palms against each other, clasped hands wavering in the air, the touch warm and soft as if Bernie were an angel guiding him towards heaven. For a moment Elton felt as if he really were.

He exhaled, inhaled, and the oxygen didn’t seem that tainted anymore.

“I had thought, you would be fine,” Bernie whispered and Elton’s eyes fluttered open.

“I should have been,” he murmured, vision blurring for a few agonising seconds as he tried to resist the urge to sob over his own inability. Though, he focused on the tenderness of Bernie’s hands around his own and the acid in his throat vanished.

“I don’t know. Nobody’s perfect, Elton, not even you. Although you do come close to it.” Bernie smirked and it made Elton’s heart dance of sheer and pure _love_ , strong enough to overwhelm him for a moment.

“I’m not _perfect_ ,” he mumbled then pursing his lips and trying to hide the bile the words left on his tongue. “I’m a horrible friend. You deserve something better. I’m… _I’m sorry_ …” He sighed, tears stinging in his eyes like tiny needles.

“You’re beating yourself up over something you can’t change, Elton. Something you shouldn’t even change if you could, by the way. You’re you, and you’re wonderful the way you are.”

Bernie paused to smile and his eyes were smiling, too, shining right into Elton’s heart like the sun’s rays. And for a moment he believed him.

“I love you, mate. You know that. You’re my best friend and you’ll always be my best friend. I didn’t think it would be necessary to tell you but I guess, you need to hear it.” Bernie sighed and for a moment neither of them blinked as if wanting to hold onto the feeling of their joined hands, joined gazes, maybe even joined hearts and souls for a bit longer.

“You’ll always come first, Elton. You’re more important to me than any girl could be and I think… what we share… it’s more than simple love, mate. And it won’t change as long as we’re together laughing, talking, making music. You’re stuck with me.”

Bernie chuckled and Elton gave in to the urge to chuckle, too, until they were both giggling like little girls even though it hadn’t even been really funny. It didn’t matter.

It felt nice, it made him feel like flying, and for the first time since the last evening Elton thought that he might be alright.

As long as they were together, everything would be alright.

~

~

~

**Author's Note:**

> I might write a continuation if I feel like it...


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